Perimo
by NDV
Summary: CJ has an admirer of the criminal sort... CJ/Toby and CJ Josh friendship, but who knows where this will go? Please Review!
1. Prologue

Perimo   
  
Spoilers, disclaimers, and other stuff: the whole Newseum thing, Manchester parts I & II, little things, basically. This sorta follows canon but not really, and it's just my being bored during a meeting. What a wonderfully entertaining professional they must think I am! I make no money from this; you can sue me but you'd have to find me to do it. Ha. And lastly: The prologue at the very least is a mood piece, it's meant to be fast-paced, anxious, angsty - it's an explanation of how it began. If I succeeded, do let me know...   
  
Also, Perimo is the Latin form of the word "to destroy"; so the title is something like "Destroy".   
  
Summary: How obsessions begin: CJ has an... admirer of the criminal sort - stalker.   
  
Pairings/Characters: CJ/Toby and CJ/Josh friendship, don't know where this is headed so I can't really say much else; everyone's pretty much involved. I'm taking license with the spelling of a last name here and there, feel free to correct me, I hate my bad spelling!   
  
Feedback/Archiving: Whenever, wherever. It's lizaausten@tri-countynet.net and I'd love to hear from you ;-)   
  
  
  
Prologue:   
  
After Rossyln, when she wore Josh's blood and the only person within reach was herself, she fell back into the mode that dictated professional conduct, and let her own arms fall from the hug she'd enveloped herself in. But for a moment frozen forever, the wide angle of a camera caught her as she turned, horror and desolation painted on her face, from the shattered window that could've been - and if fate had had its way, probably should have been - her, to where a river of blood leaked down cold stone steps, a pale hand upturned and fallen in its way. The cameraman, along with Sam, an EMT, and the world that would soon turn on CNN, watched silently as she lifted her hand to her forehead, blood tinging her fingertips, and fell to her knees, soon crawling head down to reach her fallen comrade. Dry-eyed, she grasped his bloody hand in her own, kissed the back of his hand, and held it to her heart. She said nothing, just watched, examining his face for any sign of life. But she saw nothing, a twisted sort of wide-eyed-innocence across her own features as the EMT finally reached them.   
  
"He's alive," she's squeaked, million-dollar vocabulary gone, even though her mind quite coherently screamed, "Oh My God. Not Josh...notJosh...notjoshnotjoshnotjosh."   
  
The man nodded gravely as others joined him, "He's alive," he agreed, and she pried her hand from his, the one unwilling to let go. But within seconds, Toby's hand was on her shoulder and she stood quickly, Sam's eyes before her own as he pressed his handkerchief to her head and asked her if she was okay. She opened her mouth to say no, but over Toby's shoulder she saw a stray cameraman and the Press Corps behind police lines, and unflinchingly, she lied, "I'm fine. Fine." She wiped her hand on the exposed bit of blouse and rebuttoned her coat. The look she'd worn shuttered itself away for another time, another place, and she stepped twoard the press, drawn face, pale skin, bloodied clothes, the picture of strength, the face of the party. The image of wholeness once again in place, though half of her heart was lying on the stone steps where her friend had fallen.   
  
For just that moment, which CNN played that night over and over before retiring it, the camera had panned to CJ Cregg and the United States of America collectively held its breath at the look on her face, anguish, horror, fascination; then the country went to bed as the camera moved and no one saw her as she wept. Then came the detachment and then came the shock, the numbness, the need. And when they heard that he, the Deputy Chief of Staff, was alive and would be fine, the Senior Staff rejoiced in the waiting room, laughing, smiling, weeping. But CJ sat alone, watching them, holding her breath. When she walked away, no one saw, but when she was gone, he knew; Toby and Leo looked out the window together, exchanging worried glances as she hailed a cab. He said he'd give her time, they all should, but Toby just glared, thinking of Scotch, clean clothes, and the men that would paw her at the bar she'd soon find.   
  
After Rosslyn, while the others though of Josh, survival, miracles, family, and forgot about her, Claudia Jean Cregg sat in a smoky jazz bar not dinified enough to call itself a club. She nursed one of Toby's standard scotch-rocks and watched with bleary eyes as a hand fell on her exposed knee in the cramped quarters, and then she decided to leave. Later, she left his apartment six blocks down and walked to her own, his business card in her hand. Suddenly, she felt sober.   
  
After the Newseum and the shooting and Rosslyn, she just wanted to feel something, anything. And no one asked where the bruises, already fading or covered, came from because they didn't see, didn't know, and she wasn't in shock anymore.   
  
A year later there was Manchester, her slip to the press - a royal fuckup - and subpoenas. Babish said she was trying to bring herself back into things with one swoop, and she ignored him, refusing to admit it to him or any of them. That night she was tired and hungry and the beer made her ears buzz, but she didn't complain when he opened his door six blocks away and his hand placed itself somewhere higher than her knee. Drunk, angry, dirty, she left again, her heard sore from crashing into the headboard and her arm throbbing from hitting a table. The other bruises were lazy and hidden, but her legs felt tight and her stomach nauseous and she wept as she passed through her own door.   
  
And he sat in his bed, smiling but brooding, silently scheming to make her purposefully and irreplacably his.   
  
The obsession had begun.


	2. Part One

Part One 

Part One 

They reminded her of his blood, the roses. Not because she pricked her finger with the thorns, leaving a stain from thorn to leaf, before she held the pad of her finger to her lips to soothe the wound, but simply for the fact that they were as deep a red as Josh's or her blood had ever been, and the envelope, in contrast, was as white and silent and desolate as the snow. 'Neil Bowman', the card read, '311 Walsch Avenue, Apartment B', but on the back he had scrawled, 'Call me. Yours, Neil'. But he wasn't hers and somehow, she felt dirty and drained all over again. He, her one-night-stand twice removed, had sent her a dozen perfectly formed, beautiful blood-red roses, and the fact that he could and dared to do so almost frightened her. 

Though drunk, CJ was not drunk enough to give him her name, or perhaps she was too drunk to do so; of course, she was the Press Secretary and her face was on television on a near-daily basis, everyone knew her. Naturally, Neil Bowman, her twice-made mistake, would know her too. And he sent her beautiful flowers, symbolic of beautiful things and promises and love, yet they reminded her of pain and desperation and dirty, ugly things. 

After a few minutes of contemplation, she picked up the phone and informed the answering machine that identified itself as 4B that the flowers were an unnecessary but kind gesture, and that she was sorry but things could not go any further, or rather, she amended, anywhere at all. And then, she called Carol and asked her to have the roses disposed of. 

With an odd look, Carol left with them, and CJ watched as a single drop of her own blood fell on the business card before she threw it away, then she placed her head in her hands and sighed. Tired and sore and old she felt, but the press briefings were approaching and so she stood, stretched, and walked with her files, ignoring Carol as she answered the phone, blood red roses at the base of her desk. 

"Donna," she paused, her voice sounding a little too breathy even to her own ears, "Advil?" 

"You too?" Donna grinned, "Josh will never admit that we're not joking about the delicate system thing," blond hair billowed out around her face as she shook her head and bent to retrieve the bottle. Dropping two tablets into CJ's hand and holding up a small water bottle. 

She tossed her head back to take the pills, her eyes tightly shut as flashes of fluorescent light burst beyond her eyelids. And, her sleeve fell towards her elbow, exposing blackened skin, a bruise she'd not taken much care to hide. 

"CJ," Donna's voice was low, surprised, perhaps even alarmed, "What happened?" 

She replaced the cap on the bottle, turned away from the younger woman, picked up her briefs, and headed toward the press room, al the while calling over her shoulder, "Nothing Donna, I'm fine." 

And then, CJ stood at the door to the pressroom, hugging her files to her chest with one hand on the door, and she was sober and lost and the tiniest bit vulnerable. 

After Rosslyn and Manchester, she'd been so numb and so lonely that she was dying to feel something anything, regardless of the who or the what. After the scotch and the beer, and his hands and her bruises, and Rosslyn - she felt and she hurt and she still didn't remember it all, but she didn't blame it on the concussion or the alcohol, she just missed it and prayed for it - she'd rather feel the emptiness and the numbness than the hurt and the loss. After the beer and the words, his apartments, his hands, and her pain, she'd been just as angry and dirty and tired, only then she was bruised and lost and angry at herself. Then, she'd prayed for the before. That night, two nights ago, she'd dreamed she was drowning but Toby's hand was on her shoulder and his eyes understood and she felt dry land under her feet. And despite the blood and the hate, Josh still breathed and lived and now he was smiling and even bouncing again. 

She chuckled, pushing open the door and forgetting her mistakes and what Donna was probably saying, and felt the tiniest bit better. Thoughts of Toby and Josh made her smile as she reached the podium, and she was CJ Cregg once again. 

"Well, good morning all! Let's keep this brief, shall we? Now, about the gun-control bill," CJ began, knowing that when she returned to her office, she'd still carry bruises, but there would be no roses to remind her, and he'd be an almost distant memory - a mistake she would not make again. 

And in Apartment 4B, a cleanly-shaven man adjusted his tie, eyes narrowed, as his answering machine beeped. "That's what you think, Claudia Jean Cregg. I'll make you love me, yet." And with that, he grabbed his coat, as charcoal gray as his eyes, and headed from his home, his one-track mind intending a head on collision. 

"Oh, Claudia..." 

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	3. Part Two

I apologize for the spelling errors that I have made in previous parts and that I'll probably continue to make. I type a little too quickly sometimes, and spell check does not function as it should... I manually checked the whole thing (excluding this part) today. Ouch.   
  
My thanks go to Jess for her help, which kept this part... well, in existence. I almost trashed the whole thing. Also, thanks to all who have sent feedback thus far, it's been *very* helpful! And remember, I love it, so keep on sending the suggestions, messages, and whatever else you'd like to send. It'll make me very happy :-)   
  
  
Part Two:   
  
  
"Claudia Jean," Josh said, his mood suddently seeming a little more sour, "What," he pushed her sleeve down as she lifted her head from it's prop on her hand, "is this?" Toby stood at the door, appearing quite the casual observer if not for the scowl and downcast, worried eyes.   
  
"Let me guess," the words rolled off of her tongue as a milion thoughts surged like bumper cars through her mind, "Donna?" No one moved, Josh's angry and concerned eyes held CJ's tired and wondering ones, and yet he was unaware of the mental and emotional battle his and Toby's presences had caused her to wage within herself. She'd never been a very good liar, and her heart tended to wear itself, without her knowledge on her sleeves. She was the strong one, she'd long ago decided, the one who couldn't afford to make mistakes because they so often did, she cleaned up after them like a forgiving mother and yet loved them anyway. His eyes were darkened with anger, directed at whomever had caused or would ever cause her pain. Sighing she broke the void, "It's a bruise Josh. Toby, come on in, I can see you're just as curious. Before you plot to mame anyone, or go off saying you must defend my honor, let me remind you that I'm a big girl and can take care of myself, and you are hardly my big brothers." She paused for a moment, letting her words have the desired effect, "And lastly, I hit my arm on my nightstand while I was sleeping a few nights ago, and this," CJ indicated the bruise with a wave of her hand, "is the result. Now, is there anything else?" She pinched the bridge of her nose, anticipating a headache.   
  
"I was worried," Josh wanted to say, but instead, his eyes softened and he sighed, "No."   
  
"Then get out so I can deal with Oscar the Grouch and get back to work. And tell Donna to stop worrying and speculating!" she finished, her final words coinciding with the latching of her office door.   
  
Toby shuffled his feet, then sat. "You're a horrible liar, CJ. I've known you forever and I know when you're lying." This time, it seemed it was his vocabulary that failed him. "You don't ahve a table by your bed, CJ, I've been to your apartment, I know how your furniture is arranged."   
  
Attempting a diversion, she grinned "Feng Sui, Toby."   
  
"Pardon?" he seemed startled by her lighthearted words.   
  
"Ask the President, "CJ replied, and started to return to work, but Toby's gaze caught hers and she couldn't bear to break it.   
  
"Who hurt you, CJ? The roses, the ones you told Carol to..." he saw her gaze sharpen, "I overheard you, Carol's not gossiping." Again, Toby paused, "I know you, CJ."   
  
And he did, that much she knew. In the ten or so years he'd known her and she'd known him, he'd been the only constant, her best friend, dinner companion, protector. She trusted him, she loved him, and she feared his disappointment and rejection more than anything. In her dreams, he pulled her from the tide and stopped her from drowning, during the campaign, his bickering and baiting made her young and alive and happy, and at Rosslyn, the touch of his hand, his grip on her shoulder, kept her alive and somehow safer. For al lthe times he'd saved her, helped her, befriended her, she loved and respected and cherished him. And so, she smiled, held his gaze, and told him as much of the truth as she dared to remember, of drinks and loneliness and hands and smoke and bruises. And when she finished, she smiled regretfully, sadly, and he unexpectedly nodded back, his eyes again understanding, and took her into his arms in a small gesture of support. Only seconds later, he pulled back, manner gruff, eyes narrowed, and began to worry aout a man who dared to send a woman expensive red roses after two semi-anonymous and drunken one-night-stands.   
  
And he remembered, as she argued her case, the desperation he'd felt when Andi had called to say she was leaving - permanently, and who he'd gone to, smelling of Scotch and cigars, his face streaked with tears. His best friend, his CJ, had held onto him while he sobbed himself to a blissful state of unconsciousness and she watched him as he dreamed. Toby shook himself from his train of thought, wondering if he'd ever said thank you before he forced himself to forget.   
  
Then, he waved his hand in the air, cutting off her diatribe as she closed with, "Thank you for worrying, but I can take care of myself."   
  
"Right," he said, and the doubtful tone she expected to hear wasn't there, "You did well, with the press conference; the diversion to the bill from the Grand Jury."   
  
She smiled, knowing that was as much a concession from him that she'd get. But when his eyes were finally trapped by hers, she felt small and strange, and CJ realized she'd hurt him. With the epiphany she backed away, wanting to apologize, to seek absolution, but she didn't, breaking his gaze with an almost-bitter smile, knowing he wouldn't accept her words. After a moment, she chose to break the silence, not because it was uncomfortable but because she wanted to keep him there. "I'm already kind of hungry, what would you think of getting lunch in an hour, an early one albeit?"   
  
"I would think lunch would make you less hungry, therefore it would be a good idea." She couldn't see the smile for his beard, but just the same, she knew it was there.   
  
"With me, Toby?" CJ paused, a laugh escaping, "Would you go get lunch with me in an hour, Toby? Or do you fear for your reputation?" she goaded, teasing.   
  
He rolled his eys, nodded his head, "I'll tell Ginger to clear my lunch schedule." And he was standing in the doorway.   
  
"I'm sorry, Toby," she whispered as he left, and though he did not stop, his pace slowed, and she knew he'd heard.   
  
Another smile lit her face as she leaned against the side of desk, Josh still breathed and worried, Toby still bickered and pretended to be horrible and gruff, there was no blood beneath her fingernails, no tears in her eyes -- she was safe, she was needed, she was loved. Rosslyn and Manchester and death suddenly seemd a world away, she mused, in a near euphoric mood.   
  
Carol stuck her head in the door, pleasantly surprised by her mood, "Italian or French?"   
  
"What?" CJ asked, and walked around her desk to sit in her own chair, throwing her legs across the furniture.   
  
"That's what he wants to know. Pick up the phone," Carol nodded at it, which rang as if in answer. "Good thing this is a slow news day."   
  
With more than a slight hesitation, CJ picked up the phone, suddenly as worried as Toby tried to convince her to be. "Hello?" her voice was strong, it did not betray her, and as soon as she heard his breath in the receiver, she knew it was him and began to talk, fighting nervousness. "I guess you didn't get my message, which is understandable, but, uhm," she paused to still and coordinate her words, "this isn't a good idea, if anything, it's a terrible one. The roses were... thoughtful, or sending them was, but I can't do this, and I apologize for the misunderstanding." Again, CJ paused for a second, but this time he broke in, and her thoughts turned to blood and bruises and smoke.   
  
"I got your message, Claudia," he breathed into the phone, "but I don't think you've understand what you've said... or it's effects."   
  
"My name..." she interrupted, more forcefully, but again he cut her off, this time with laughter.   
  
"Your name is Claudia, and that's what I've chosen to call you. Have lunch with me, let me see you."   
  
"I have plans," she answered, perhaps a little too quickly.   
  
"Dinner, then," his words moved like his fingers, slowly, in circles. He traced the television screen, her laughing face freeze-framed.   
  
"No, this is not going to happen, ever. I can't do this, just - no." Again, her tone did not betray her shaking hands.   
  
"Claudia..."   
  
And she dropped the phone back to the receiver, pacing on the other side of her desk. There's a reason they say learn from your mistakes, she decided then, his voice had unnerved her, though she'd heard it before. Same voice, different undertone, anger and arrogance and a right-wing sense of misogeny had fallen on her ears and she could almost feel her skin crawl. It was strange, she thought, as she clasped her hands and forced herself to slow her breathing, how his voice alone made her feel all of the things she kept thinking she'd escape from, desperation and anger and uncleanliness. With her eyes closed, she stood and swayed without warning, smelling roses and blood and fear - her own.   
  
And in the darkened office that swam with memories of mistakes-made, bullets, and words she couldn't take back, no one was there to catch her when she fell.


	4. Part Three

Part Three: 

Part Three: 

To say that Carol was mildly confused at her boss's actions would be a rather large understatement. Roses she didn't want, a man that kept calling only for CJ to ignore… this could only logically add up to one thing, she'd surmised, and the curiosity was getting to her. She looked around, sifting through memos for anything that could be perceived as mildly urgent. Finding nothing, Carol sighed, stood, and authoritatively knocked on the closed office door. "CJ?" 

A moment later, hearing no response, Carol knocked again. Sighing, she opened the door and poked her head in, eyes scanning the office, still not seeing CJ. 

On the other side of her desk, the Press Secretary lay, her legs bent partially beneath her body, head on her arm. She drifted, unconscious in a sea of worry. 

Seconds after sticking her head into the office, Carol pushed the door open further, eyes squinting for the lack of light, and opted to cross the room to turn on the lamp. Halfway there, she stumbled, heard a groan, gasped, and stepped carefully to flip the light on. 

CJ's hair caught the light from where it fanned over her face, and Carol knelt beside her, calling her name, and received another groan for her efforts. Quickly she stood and rushed to the door and laid eyes on Ginger as she crossed the bullpen. "Ginger! Call a doctor! Something's wrong with CJ!" 

Two secret service agents started, but Toby, who was stepping out of his office to get his lunch partner, halted them, "Call Doctor Bartlet," then he hurried away from them, falling to his knees at CJ's side. And he watched her, her eyes fighting and flitting behind her eyelids, brow furrowed, lips slightly parted, and gathered her into his arms so that she was leaning against him before he began talking to her, trying to wake her. "CJ, come on, CJ. It's Toby and it's time for lunch, you need to open those beautiful eyes and tell us, " his eyes flicked up to where Carol and Donna stood, keeping Ginger and Josh at bay, "how you ended up on the floor." Shortly afterward, a secret service agent cleared the doorway with Abigail Bartlet in tow. 

"Toby, what happened?" the words flew from her mouth as she waved toward the sofa, where Toby, with a shrug filled with concern, laid her, then stood back. Immediately, Abby moved to take her pulse, rolling her sleeve upward. "Has she slept or eaten lately? She looks exhausted, and my guess would be dehydration too. She doesn't take care of herself, sometimes," she paused, her eyes focusing on the dark circles beneath CJ's eyes that contrasted with her pallor, then looked down to CJ's inner wrist where her fingers searched for a pulse. "What?" Abbey's eyes narrowed, taking in the deep purple bruising on her wrist. "Toby, lift her up. We have to get this jacket off of her so I can take her blood pressure," her voice was controlled, her hands sure as she unbuttoned the jacket, for somehow, she knew what she was about to find, and Toby knew that this was hardly about blood pressure. 

Toby sat behind her, pulling the tall woman up to lean against him as he helped Abbey pull off her coat. "Carol, get in here and shut the door. You found her?" The door clicked shut on her words. 

"Yes ma'am, just lying on the floor in front of the desk," she paused, "she's had a normal day, kind of slow actually. I don't know what…" Carol added helpfully, "She received some… roses, but threw them away. Could that…?" her voice trailed off as she watched Abbey push the loose sleeves of CJ's silk blouse past her elbows, exposing several smaller bruises, indicative of fingertips. 

This time it was Toby's eyes that narrowed as his body tensed, coursing with adrenaline. He couldn't help but remember a time she'd appeared just as vulnerable, only then it was emotional. She'd lost the love of her life, and it had been he that curled on her sofa with her in his arms, listening to her as she mourned the loss of the man she loved to another woman. And years later, she lovingly, honestly, beautifully, did the same for him when Andi called it quits and broke his heart. It was CJ who had saved him, who'd shaken him from the bottomless well of desperation, he, like many others, had fallen into; it was CJ whom he loved now above all the rest, though she probably wasn't aware of the way and for whom he had fallen. And, it was CJ who, breaking him from his reverie, he heard whimper now in his arms. "Hurts…" she cried, pushing backward into Toby, away from Abbey's probing hands as she took stock of the deep marks on her wrists and upper arms. "Stop…" Toby felt his heart clench somberly and quite painfully at the sleepy desperation in her voice. 

"Hold her still as gently as you can," Abbey Bartlet instructed, her voice soft as she focused on her friend, watching Toby carefully envelope CJ in a delicate hold, "She'll never go to a doctor on her own," she paused, "CJ? CJ, it's Abbey. I need you to wake up for me CJ." She turned her head into Toby's shoulder, hiding as best she could. Carol stepped closer then sat on her knees beside the sofa, as Abbey drew a leg beneath herself. "CJ, I need to see how badly you've been hurt, okay? I'm going to unbutton you blouse, but I'm not going to hurt you," she looked to Toby, "Has her breathing been this labored all day? She could have a lung injury for all we know," the First Lady's voice held a hint of anger, but she softened once she'd seen Toby shake his head. She quickly finished with the buttons, informing Toby that the woman was fighting sleep but having a difficult time waking. In doctor mode, she pushed the fabric backward, exposing a series of small blackened bruises and two lighter but more frightening marks, one in the shape of a fist just above her breast, the other of an outstretched hand on her lower ribcage. 

Carol gasped, a hand flying to her mouth, and Abbey's eyes widened, "Oh CJ, who did this to you?" she whispered, beginning her search for broken bones or possible internal injuries. 

And he - knowing she'd drunkenly returned to a monster's clutch and barely escaped in some sort of consolation or punishment, understanding that she, afraid and broken and intoxicated, could hardly fight a man larger than she though she'd tried, finally realizing who and what he was - gritted his teeth, letting his breath out in a slow hiss, "It was two days ago," he paused, "I'll kill him, I will kill him for doing this CJ." She'd only told him what she dared, he realized then, by saying they were both drunk and he'd gotten a little rough and left a few small bruises in addition to the one on her arm that he'd seen, that she'd left as soon as she could. And, he knew, she was angry with herself, and ashamed and disappointed, and afraid he'd reject her. The scenarios he was beginning to understand that actually occurred were so much worse than he'd imagined from her earlier words, and Toby knew she was protecting him, too. 

Abbey looked at Toby sharply, then dropped her gaze to CJ's exposed chest, carefully finishing her informal check for broken bones. "She needs to be x-rayed, I can't be sure, but it looks alright. It could have been worse," Abbey continued. 

Finally, CJ let out another cry, a quiet wail that was so plaintive, filled with fear, that Abbey's eyes welled with tears, "Help…Toby, help me__" It was then Toby realized that she'd been reliving the evening in her unconscious state. His hands worked with CJ's, lightly pushing the doctor's away, and clumsily buttoning her blouse. 

"Carol, get some water," his voice was gruff, but Abbey caught his glassy eyes. "She's waking up," he added, then shifted her in his arms, calling to her, "CJ, it's Toby, I'm here and so is Abbey, Carol's gone to get you water. It's just us and you're safe," his voice softened, "I'll protect you." 

Moments later, responsive to his voice and rocking, her eyes snapped open, "Toby?" her eyes focused on him. 

"You were dreaming," he paused, "you passed out." 

"Oh God," she groaned, her face regaining some of it's color before she flushed with embarrassment, obviously not remembering her dream, "I shouldn't have skipped breakfast, huh?" she looked to Abbey. 

"CJ," Abbey began, treading lightly, "you're pretty banged up there." Her friend stared, so the First Lady continued, "I won't ask for an explanation, or details, but I want you to know that even though Toby has everything under control, I'm here if you need a woman or a doctor to speak to." CJ's eyes remained blank as Carol opened a bottle of water, and offered it to her, and she struggled to sit up. "You're dehydrated, probably suffering from exhaustion. Drunk this, go home, sleep. This will go no further than this room," she added, "we care about you, Claudia Jean Cregg." Seconds later, Carol and Abbey were gone, leaving scarce a parting glance, and CJ still refused to move farther from him. 

"She knows… doesn't she?" her voice betrayed her emotions: shame and fear and regret. 

"She is your friend, they both are. They care, and so do the rest of us," Toby said, knowing CJ understood he really meant that it was he who cared the most. "You talk in your sleep, CJ," he added, pulling her upward, and cutting off her interruptions with a halting hand gesture. "I'll take you home, get you food, put you to bed. Then I want to know what else, what really…" And he squeezed her hand, as she wordlessly stared at him, her thoughts jumpled, one thing foremost in her mind: "he's being so understanding," followed by, "he really does care about me... even now, with all he's got to be imagining happened." 

Suddenly the fear didn't seem quite as strong, and she knew she'd be remembering more than she'd dared before, not just for him, but for herself. "It's time to heal, CJ," she told herself. And regardless of exhaustion and bruises and nightmares, she smiled at his back, still holding her water bottle, his other hand still holding hers, amazed. 

Back in Apartment 4B, from which he'd left barely an hour before, a man dropped a file on his desk, pulling an itinerary from the top, followed by a manila envelope filled with photographs. "We'll just have to find an appropriate time for dinner," he sighed, finger sliding down the page before he selected a time slot another day away. 

With a smile, he sighed, then flipped open the envelope and removed the photographs, making quick work of standing and pinning them along a clothes line that ran the length of his bedroom. "I'll see you in my sleep, too now, Claudia." 

Again, a smile crossed his face, eyes closed, as he took a deep breath. "I can still smell you, Claudia. And soon…soon…" his eyes snapped open, "Soon, Claudia…" 

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	5. Part Four

Part Four:  
  
She smiled, accepting the warm mug, and inhaled the steam. "It wasn't like this, the first time," her eyes were closed but she may well have seen him, and she reached a hand out as she felt him settle his weight into the couch. "It was controlled and." she sipped the cocoa, "It was what I needed for a while, and when it was over, I left." Her eyes slid open as she felt his fingers slide up her inner wrist.  
  
She sat the mug on the table and turned toward him slightly, capturing his eyes, "The bruises bother you, too," she paused, "They weren't this bad, after Rosslyn, the ones that were even there, that is. And those were very, very few," CJ finished in earnest.  
  
His fingers trailed along the edges of the bruise, and his gaze fell to his ministrations. "You told me before," he trailed off, "but I need to see, to know.why?" he finished lamely, then looked back upward, eyes pleading, trying to understand.  
  
"After all of the. shit hit the fan," she began after a moment of self-composure, "and the hearings took a wrong turn, I kept going back over it all, wondering what I'd done to cause."  
  
"Nothing! This is not your fault, you can hardly control disease. You didn't give Bartlet MS or tell him to hide, and if you lied at all willingly you did it either unknowingly or at the service of the President," Toby defended, turning her chin to face him.  
  
She laughed somewhat wryly, "Road to hell is paved with good intentions." The room was silent, the pause not altogether uncomfortable, "I was upset, you know, the more I thought about it, and you have known me forever. I did what I always do," CJ looked at him expectantly.  
  
"You didn't yell at me, so you either tried to kill yourself at the gym or." he frowned, thinking, "went on a cleaning binge?"  
  
She chuckled, "God, I'm so predictable! I cleaned, it was raining so I decided not to brave the trip to the gym. I found his business card in the coat," she paused, swallowing, "the one from Rosslyn. It was in a box, in the closet. I just. I guess I stared at it for so long and remembered so vividly, that I believed I needed that again. And I knew he would. I think I'd had a little more to drink than I should have. Things got a little out of hand and he got angry when I decided to leave, he wanted me to stay. I was still a little upset and he was angry, we ended up, you know, fucking again, and he got a little too. I tried to." CJ looked down, "I just needed to feel again, Toby, and when I could, all it did was hurt. I wanted to feel something besides disappointment and anger. I chose the wrong path," she sighed, her lips quirking up at the proverbial turn in the conversation, and she watched his mouth twitch as he fought not to do the same. And CJ looked down again, slipping her hand from his as she clasped them together, cocoa cold and forgotten. "And I've disappointed you, and Abbey thinks, oh God knows what Abbey thinks. She probably thinks I've been tortured and raped by a madman, which means the President," her head fell to her hands only to snap upward, almost grateful for the phone's ringing. Without turning from him, CJ reached backward and grasped the phone, not even bothering to say hello. After a moment, she placed it back in the cradle, shaking her head. "Phone lines are crossed again, I can hear the other people. I need to call the supervisor and tell him to send someone to rewire it, in the morning. Install new phones, or something."  
  
"It can wait," he interrupted, "For one, Abbey may be assuming things but she won't tell her husband, she's good at keeping confidences and she's got that doctor-patient-confidentiality going for her. She cares - you're her friend, she's probably worrying, but she'd understand. And furthermore, I'm not. okay, perhaps I'm a little disappointed, but not for the reasons you think," Toby slipped his hands around both of hers, smiling at her to ease her uncertainty. "Look at me, CJ. I'm not disappointed with you for needing to feel alive, or for drinking too much wine or beer, or even for going to him in the beginning or the second time. I'm not disappointed because you didn't leave or couldn't get away."  
  
"I wanted to, then," she whispered, "Not at first, but after. I did want to leave, my arm hurt and my head hurt and I felt so," CJ paused, murmuring still, "dirty, disgusting, but he wouldn't let go." Her words were quiet, sure, and, Toby wondered, slightly tearful.  
  
"He may not have raped you, Claudia Jean, but he definitely tortured you," he held up her wrist so they both could see the marks, "You didn't deserve any of this, Rosslyn or Manchester or the subpoenas. Or these bruises. You may've been willing when you got there."  
  
"But I wasn't when I left," she finished. "It was a mistake, a very. bad mistake."  
  
"I know. Not so much yours as his," Toby added in, "because if I ever meet this guy, and it won't just be me in on this, he'll be in need of a medic. Abbey's not pleased, and Bartlet and the rest of the men." he watched her tiny smile turn into a grin, "You think you made a mistake?" his voice was incredulous as he let her mind go to the possibilities.  
  
After a moment, she shook herself from her ponderings, "But it doesn't feel very different, from that, especially after the roses," CJ visibly shuddered, "They were red, Toby. Beautiful red roses, any normal woman would love," and she paused again, "but they took me back there, to Rosslyn," she explained, squeezing one of his hands, "Toby if it wasn't for."  
  
"I was disappointed, CJ, because," he looked down, "never mind."  
  
"Toby," she prodded cautiously, "please."  
  
"Why didn't you come to me, CJ?" he asked, sounding very much like a hurt little boy. His voice was quiet, pleading, anguished. "I wouldn't have hurt you, CJ. Why not me?"  
  
"Oh, Toby," she breathed, his words unexpected, her eyes welling with tears. "Oh, God, I."  
  
"Now's not the time." he began, standing, "I apologize CJ, I shouldn't."  
  
"No!" She stood quickly, swaying with the force of her movement, her hands tightening to grip his almost painfully. "Don't go, I," she paused, sitting heavily and pulling him with her, her knees falling to touch his. "I couldn't, I needed to keep you separate from this, to keep you. clean. Because I need you and I couldn't ask you to do something like that, without feeling, something so meaningless. Because I need you," she squeezed his hand lightly with each new reason, almost counting them off, "Because I've known you for a long time, Toby, a very long time. And you're my best friend, and I love you for all that you are to me, all that you could. all that you will be," she smiled, her voice determined, watching his already glassy eyes as they seemed to widen with her words, "And I needed you to be separate, to be here, even if you didn't."  
  
"I do," he interrupted, "but I do." His words were quietly eager, reassuring.  
  
"I know," she whispered, eyes shining, "Thank you for understanding, and. I just had to make sure you knew, I probably shouldn't have said all that I did," her voice dropped to a lower whisper, "I just had to make you understand why I didn't come to you then, because you wouldn't have known then. You have to know," she repeated, adamant, obviously worried that he hadn't completely grasped all that she'd said, all that he'd replied in turn. "You had to know, first."  
  
They sat together, hands clasped, knees touching, foreheads almost together, both near tears as they realized just what confessions they'd made.  
  
"I guess I should."  
  
"Stay! Stay," CJ said, her eyes widening this time, "There's so much I need to explain, that I haven't yet."  
  
"You've said it all, CJ Cregg, all that's necessary. And they say we have problems with communication, or at least Sam does," he teased, finally lightening the tone. Then he smiled, "You're my best friend, too."  
  
She grinned back, "Shut up, Toby." And for the first time in quite a while, she felt hopelessly pleased, absolved, and safe.  
  
And yet, so intent were they in their conversation and revelations, they didn't notice the eyes that watched them, haunted them, from the window, or the tapping noises he'd made to try to break them up.  
  
And they didn't see him when he grinned quite unexpectedly, his eyes narrowing as he heard her mention her phone. "So she needs a new telephone line," Neil mused, turning from the window and moving down the fire escape, slowly. "I've got friends in low places," he crooned, then laughed. "Ah, Claudia. I'll install the perfect phone for you, one that'll allow me to join in the conversation," he chuckled, then frowned as he neared the bottom floor, his pace quickening as he hit the street. "You'll never have her, Mr. Communications Director, because she's about to be swept off of her feet." Neil sighed to himself, "Claudia, Claudia, Claudia," shaking his head, "you shouldn't have run away." 


	6. Part Five

Part Five:  
  
  
  
Alone in the dark, she dreamed of blood and bullets and death, Rosslyn and Manchester and mistakes, pain and forgotten dreams, and she often woke screaming, gasping, or weeping, sometimes all three. But her eyes slipped open lazily when sunlight streamed in the window and she was slow to realize that the pillow beneath her head was not her own. Her head fell to her pillow again as she slid her eyes shut, almost expecting a headache, reminiscent of a hangover, that did not come. Just as quickly, her eyes snapped open as her pillow, oddly firm, began to move. And then she rolled to her side, grinned and looked at her cushion, "I didn't dream last night," she whispered and he grinned back, rolling to face her, "You're good for me," CJ added, and he flicked a blond lock of hair behind her left ear.  
  
Without a second thought he pulled her closer and rolled to his back. Seconds later, his grin faded and his eyes widened, "Did I hurt you?"  
  
She smiled softly, running a hand up to his shoulder as she settled comfortably atop him, still balancing on an elbow. "No, Toby, you didn't hurt me. They're just bruises, it takes more than this," CJ took his hand and placed it against the marks on her ribcage, "to hurt. Thank you for not being disgusted by me, by this," her voice was low, cautious, "and for, you know, helping me not to dream."  
  
Toby's eyes sharpened and he pulled her fully against him, softly resting the other hand in her hair and watching her facial expressions as he spoke. "I could never be disgusted by you," he whispered, and she chuckled as he shifted beneath her, "but I won't hurt you, and we're going to do this slowly."  
  
"I see," her voice was amused and her eyes understanding, as she wiggled against him in response, "or rather, I feel."  
  
"CJ, you're not helping," he whispered with restraint as he traced the neckline of his shirt, the one she'd claimed for a pajama top.  
  
She smiled, propping herself back up and slid to his side, laying a gentle, warm kiss on his bare shoulder that made him shiver. "Oh my God!" she half-squeaked a moment later, "We're late! Senior Staff's in 45 minutes!" she pushed herself upward, falling off the bed in the process, as he grunted from the jab in the ribs. Toby sat up hurriedly, looked at the clock, then to the floor where CJ sat in a heap, and both began to laugh. "You take the shower, I'll make the coffee," she finally said, a smile still creasing her face.  
  
"You could join me," Toby suggested, an eyebrow raised, as he watched her stand in a flurry of now untangled limbs and head for the kitchen in his shirt.  
  
"That wouldn't be taking things slowly, now would it?" she called over her shoulder, a flirty tone belying her words.  
  
Toby sighed exaggeratedly, "I suppose not," and then took to the shower, consciously hurrying.  
  
With near-comical speed, they arrived at the office after a stop at Toby's apartment for a suit and a deli, at his insistence, for breakfast pastries. "Abbey'll have my head if you faint again," he argued, as they walked through the West Wing, fifteen minutes later. He paused long enough for her to deposit her coat, briefcase, and laptop with Carol, and stared expectantly until she bit into the pastry.  
  
"I," she swallowed, "did not faint," her voice was adamant, but she lowered it a few notches before she continued, "Toby, they're going to think we're," her words were now a hiss as she waved the pastry in the air, "sleeping together."  
  
He chuckled, "Aren't we?" Toby's lips quirked as she frowned, "No, they're going to think, and you did faint, that I gave you a ride to work because I took you home yesterday when you weren't feeling well, and your car was still here," he pushed open the door, and noted to himself that she didn't argue about the car service, and came to face to face with four other sets of eyes, looking at the both of them quite expectantly.  
  
"I didn't faint," she whispered furiously, then stepped into his office, brandishing the strawberry-iced pastry as if were Exhibit A of her court case. "It's his fault," CJ mumbled, sitting almost dispiritedly.  
  
"Deli run," he replied, sitting beside her and leaning closer, "yes you did," Toby whispered, "She's dehydrated," he added for the rest.  
  
Josh and Sam looked at the pair with visible annoyance, but the Chief of Staff and President exchanged looks and the latter chuckled.  
  
"May we get to work now?" Sam asked, doodling on the paper before him, looking up in time to see Josh's glare between CJ and Toby, a silent promise that they would be discussing things quite soon.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, CJ's mentioned this thing with the phone's before, something about channels and crossed wires, needing a secure line. She's one of those political types, works at the White House, good kid," an older man explained, fumbling with the keys to her apartment before pushing open the door. He ran a hand through sparse white hair and then down his casual shirt. "Let me know when you're finished, I'll be down at the office."  
  
The dark-haired man entered the apartment, nodded his head, and dropped the toolbox, "Will do, sir." And the door was sealed between them.  
  
  
  
"So?" Josh said, falling into step with CJ, "you and Toby, huh?"  
  
"What about Toby and me?" she replied, shifting the memos to the other hand, her lips tugging upward into a coy smile.  
  
"Claudia Jean," his voice started out in sing-song fashion, but dropped to serious as soon as they entered the office. "I saw, yesterday, and," he paused, wording things carefully, "Toby. did he. do that?"  
  
"Do what? Did he.?" the thoughts finally connected as she leaned backward in her chair to feed Gail, "Oh, no! Josh, don't, no! Toby didn't, he didn't," she stammered, struggling, "Toby didn't hurt me, no."  
  
Josh sat, relieved, and looked upward, his chin propped in his hand, surveying his colleague. She looked better, he mused, of course she was conscious, so that was a large improvement, regardless. She was still pale, still tired, but she appeared more herself, if for no reason but the sparkle in her eye.  
  
"Josh, if or when it's appropriate and I think you need to know, I'll explain, until then, just know that I made a few mistakes but it's over now," she smiled, slipping her reading glasses onto her face, then squeezing his hand. "Thanks for worrying, mi amor, but there's no need. Pass that along to the rest."  
  
"Toby better be taking good care of you," he said, nodding at her spectacles, "Glasses, Claudia Jean?"  
  
"I can take care of myself, pal, and my contacts were stubborn this morning," she chuckled in response.  
  
"Whatever you say, Claudia Jean," his tone was mocking. "Don't think I've forgotten your affair with Toby," Josh teased, slipping out the door.  
  
"I am not having an affair with." she stopped, grinned to herself, and shook her head, eyes falling to memos, briefs, and life, as she pushed thoughts of Toby from her mind. It was then that she noticed just who she was focusing on, and the bad thoughts his very existence had erased, and she smiled again.  
  
  
  
"Last one," the repairman in CJ Cregg's apartment whispered to himself, placing the disk into the phone back. "Phones are done," he finished, "Time to call Mr. Bowman," the young man mumbled, locking the door before he looked back inside. It almost seemed wrong, he thought, to invade this woman's privacy, but people wanted strange things, or rather, people in high places with a lot of money wanted strange things. And, he sighed, in politics, that justified itself. He paused again as the door locked and latched and he caught his last whiff of her perfumed air - blooming roses, lavender bubble bath, smoke from once lit matches and bath-side candles, the smells that were distinctly hers, the ones the other man told him to savor and tell him about when he'd completed his task. Yes, people with money requested odd things, he shook his head, pulled out his cell phone, and began to dial.  
  
Moments later, the recipient of the call sat in Apartment 4B, glancing from one photograph to the next, his smile growing more brilliant, his eyes twinkling with a menacing sort of anticipation. Lifting his receiver, he dialed her cellular phone number and awaited the voice mail.  
  
"I'll be seeing you, Claudia," his words were quiet, "hope you like the roses." And pressed the off button, smile fading to a thoughtful expression, "Very soon. Maybe we'll have dinner." 


	7. Part Six

Part Six:  
  
  
  
"Pizza, Toby?" she asked with eyebrows raised, a smile on her face. When she was a child, her father berated the fast food industry voraciously, praising home cooked meals and non-commercialized life. But when her mother was gone, whether it was business or friends or something as simple as the PTA, he'd look at his children across the dinner table, his gaze settling, in the end, on one of them, usually his youngest and only daughter, grin like his inner lost child, and pass her the phone.  
  
"Pizza, Claudia Jean?" And he'd clear the table and she, in all of her eight-year-old-glory, felt very grown-up, smiling at her father like he was all that she had in the world. It was a tradition that continued for twenty-five more years, until she wasn't coming home every weekend, for she had joined the Bartlet for America campaign.  
  
Of course, Toby'd known that for years, but he'd never shared in the tradition, he'd always been the one more likely to shy away from tradition and family, but, she pondered, he almost seemed to be embracing it.  
  
"Well, we don't eat things like this enough," he defended as they climbed the stairs.  
  
"Things like this?" she repeated, amused, "I'm assuming you don't mean take-out, so do you mean Italian knock-offs or junk food?"  
  
"Actually, he chuckled, I meant carry-out anything away from the office. And I happen to have it on good authority that you love extra pepperoni," he smiled as they headed into the hall. He hadn't forgotten the stories they'd shared of childhood moments and traumas. It had been early on in the campaign, and they were both jaded as they sat in a hotel restaurant in New Hampshire, him drinking scotch, her gulping grasshoppers, telling each other things they hadn't before. Andi was gone for good then, though he'd known she was leaving for a while, and CJ's last relationship had ended months before. Once again, it was back to just them, and he told her of his father's ire when he realized the only memories she had that were worthy of her were of her own father. For Toby, his mother had been his savior, for CJ, it had been her father, the other parent in each family was much the same. They'd joked that together, they actually made one, whole, normal human being. And, Toby had begun to wonder how much of a joke it really was.  
  
"Toby," CJ whispered, her eyes dropping to the base of her door. His followed, and they both paused, her with keys in hand, him still holding the pizza in one hand with his other planted on the small of her back. Sitting, centered, in front of the door was a crystal vase filled with long- stemmed red roses, a spritz of water visible on the petals.  
  
"I'll get rid of them, you take the food and wait for me," his voice was gruff again, sounding more like the Toby she was accustomed to, and his eyes shifted from one end of the hall to the other.  
  
"Toby, it's not that big of a deal," she sighed, steeling herself for an argument. "Come on," she led him through the door she'd just opened, dropped the keys on the bar, and deposited the roses in the trash can. Toby said nothing, leaving the still-warm pizza on the table, then standing beside her. After another few moments of silence, she pulled the card from the top of the arrangement, flipped it open and frowned, passing it to Toby.  
  
"Dinner?" the card read, and Toby made quick work of ripping it in half and returning to the table. "We should do something," he raked a hand through his hair, "Call the Secret Service or the Police or, hell."  
  
She shook her head semi-violently. "No. No, and no. It's pointless, Toby, he hasn't done anything, this isn't a veiled threat, he's just. sending me flowers. Drop it, okay, just, let's eat before we argue, I'm hungry and. he just hasn't gotten the hint yet. I'll make sure he does, but, let's forget it, okay? Just forget it for now."  
  
"Are you sure you don't." he began, because he was less than sure and needed her to understand the rate at which the hairs on the back of his neck were raising.  
  
"I'm sure," she smiled, "you can take out the trash after dinner," CJ's eyes twinkled, as she effectively cut off the conversation.  
  
"Already I'm reduced to handyman and garbageboy," he rolled his eyes dramatically, pushing back the lid of the pizza box, allowing the scent of pepperoni to waft up to her.  
  
CJ picked up the nearest slice and bit into it, moaning at the taste. "This," she paused and swallowed, "Is the guilty pleasure, garbageboy." Soon, they were both laughing their way through dinner, but from the corner of her eye, CJ saw a lone rosebud laying against the rim of the trash receptacle. But she shoved away the memories that fought to surface and smiled as the cheese slid from her pizza.  
  
"She won't have dinner with me, but she'll have dinner with him? What does she think she's doing?" Neil raged, pacing from one side of the impeccably clean room to the other, staring at her face in a million shadows as he walked beside the clothesline he'd hung with her pictures, listening to the sounds of her laughter as it traveled through the listening device he'd had installed within her kitchenette.  
  
"Damn it, Claudia!" he yelled, grasping a bedside figuring in his hand and throwing it angrily into the opposite wall. "You will not betray me!"  
  
And six blocks away, in CJ Cregg's apartment, laughter rang out as they dined, oblivious to the man in Apartment 4B who was planning his schedule for the next day.  
  
"So the darling Carol is feeling a tad ill." he whispered, their conversation washing over him in suffocating waves, "Goodnight, my Claudia, I'll see you soon." 


	8. Part Seven

Part Seven:  
  
  
  
"Carol called last night, she's sick so I'm minus one assistant today," CJ sighed, walking between Josh and Toby, Sam at Josh's other side, as they headed for their respective offices.  
  
"And the West Wing will head to hell in a hand basket," Sam quipped, and CJ shot him a look, allthewhile taking in his somewhat distant demeanor, but saying nothing as she stored it away for later discussion.  
  
"Briefing's in ten," Toby added, as the four dispersed. CJ fought the urge to smile at him and wistfully wondered whether there would be time for a non-working lunch.  
  
She could feel it when she walked into the room, and chuckled to herself as she dropped files in her chair and tapped the glass of Gail's goldfish bowl, watching flakes of fish food fall lazily through the water. "Good morning, Gail," CJ said, a smile lighting her lips, "Carol's not here, so I'm assuming either Ginger or Danny has been to feed you," she paused a moment, "God, I'm getting old, talking to a goldfish," this was muttered, as she sat behind her desk.  
  
Only moments later, her head snapped up as her door latched and an eerily familiar voice near-growled, "Hello, Claudia."  
  
Several thoughts passed through her foggy mind, among them were different variations of 'oh God', 'where's Toby when I need him?', and 'where in the hell are all the secret service agents', but she knew that they didn't know they needed to worry because she had kept too many things to herself, and settled on a calm, professional, "How did you get in here?"  
  
He smiled, baring almost illuminate teeth, "You issued me press credentials, Claudia," his voice was amused.  
  
For a moment, she sat, blinked, and then shook herself, "I most certainly did not." She stood, inching backward from her desk and closer to the door.  
  
"You know that, and I know that." his voice again had the singing quality he used so often, "Looks authentic, doesn't it?" Neil held his pass up, displaying it proudly. "Amazing what people can do with computers these days, isn't it Claudia?"  
  
She swallowed the rising emotions, panic among them, and turned toward the door. "I think you should go," CJ replied, her voice carrying with it all the confidence the rest of her body lacked as her hands shook.  
  
The Press Secretary pulled the door partially open and realized that no one knew there was a madman in her office, he'd even drawn the blinds before she heard him, acknowledging the feeling that something was amiss. He slammed his arm against the door, causing her to start and jump backward, where he waited, leering, his mouth twisted into a smile that would have otherwise been charming. Roughly, he grabbed her arm, pulled her to face him, and forced her back against the door. "We haven't had brunch, yet."  
  
She jerked backward, throwing her head into the door, as he leaned closer. "Let go," she slowed her words, "of me. Now." We are not having brunch or any other meal together, now or ever," she pulled her arm from his grasp as he loosened it in shock. Quickly, she moved across the room, putting the desk between them, laying a hand on the phone. "You're crazy."  
  
His smile had dropped from charming to bewildered to enraged. Before she could scream at the White House operator to send the Secret Service, the cord was ripped from the phone and he was hissing in her ear, "I am not," he shook her by the shoulders, running her back into the corner of the desk sharply.  
  
She swallowed her cry, ground her teeth, and hissed, "Let go of me."  
  
"I. Am. Not. Crazy!" he yelled, and her eyes fell shut as he jerked her forward, forcing her mouth to his, his grip on her upper arms crushing.  
  
With a vague sense of self preservation, she bit his lip as hard as she could, slammed her heel onto his instep, and felt an almost twisted satisfaction when he yelped quietly, stumbled, and cursed. It was short- lived, however, for in the second before she got an arm's length away, he grabbed the tail of her dress coat and she felt it rip as he pulled her back into his grip, then near-threw her into the couch like so many ragdolls. Shocked by the fall, CJ only gasped as her still-marked side collided with the end of a polished furniture arm, watching in silence as he swept Gail and her fishtank to the floor, glass splintering and shattering as water splashed onto the office floor. "Somebody is bound to have heard that," she thought to herself, as she knelt crookedly.  
  
Like blood, it fell in slow motion, like Josh's blood, as it fell droplet by droplet onto the cold Newseum steps, like it rained down her arm as she held his hand in hers. And she was back there, in Rosslyn, where she dared only to watch as if it were a movie. But his hands fell over a chair, and she was shaken back to the present, still wondering how on earth she'd gotten there. With Neil hellbent on destruction, she fought to stand, nearly fell as a stabbing sort of pain coursed through her side, and dropped to her knees for the short journey to the door. The six seconds it took for her to scurry her way across the office felt like hours falling around her, and she dared not breathe as she wondered what gods had condemned her to this fate. Six blocks to where he'd lain in wait, six seconds to the portal to freedom, there was some sort of sick correlation there, she supposed, but pushed away her thoughts, fell back on her knees and looked over her shoulder, watching him kick pieces of glass beneath his feet as he prepared to throw a chair, still not noticing her movements.  
  
CJ forced herself to her feet, swiftly settled aside the door and prepared to turn the door knob, and heard the words she'd been waiting for, or rather, the voice. "I'll get her, she's probably lost in a memo," and he was pushing open the door. Seeing him, she fell to her knees from her near- standing position, only to be pulled up again, sat in a chair, and handed his handkerchief.  
  
Toby's blood boiled with rage, and he marched over to where the man stood, contemplating a chair as though he'd forgotten her. Clenching his hands into fists, the words left him as though they were never said - "Get the hell out!"  
  
And he watched in bewilderment as Neil turned, left a lingering look at CJ, smiled politely, and left, latching the door behind him. "If you ever so much as think of touching her again." but the words died on his lips as he heard the click of the door, then muttered, "Crazy bastard," and fell to his knees beside CJ, taking her hands in his before she could gather the glass, potentially hurting herself. "It's going to be fine, CJ. We'll have someone clean this up, you don't need to do this, and then we'll call the police."  
  
"No, no police," she mumbled, professionally speaking, "no press, Toby. No press."  
  
He paused for a moment, "I'm going to talk to the President about getting you a detail then," Toby decided, prepared for an argument that did not come.  
  
"He killed Gail," she whispered, her eyes glued on the goldfish, "this is all my fault."  
  
"No, it's not, and don't you dare think that, CJ. This was not your fault and it's over now, he's gone. We're going to get you an agent."  
  
"I don't want." she began, but stopped when she looked away from Gail to him, noting the determination in his gaze and the pleading that lay beneath it, "okay," CJ paused, "He's crazy, Toby. One minute he was throwing me into the arm of the couch, and then he's just staring at a chair while I'm crawling across the room, like I wasn't even there."  
  
"Right now, though," Toby paused, unsure what to say, "I'm going to take Bonnie your notes from the briefing and have her tell them something came up," he held up a hand to halt her half-hearted arguments, "And you and I are going to see Abbey. You're holding your side for dear life, and she's worried about you, as am I," he paused, "I want to know that you're okay."  
  
"I'm okay," she told him, plastering a small smile on her face as he shook his head.  
  
"He." Toby paused, taking in her glassy eyes, slightly ripped jacket, and almost-confused expression.  
  
She shook her head, taking his hand as they turned to leave the office, "My side hurts, I think I bruised a rib." And though her words were true, they were almost mechanical, for she was trying to think of a way to reassure Toby while still reassuring herself. Coming up with nothing, she sighed, and they headed for Abbey's office, and she frowned when she saw a single red rose in the trash bin, the petals fallen in an array of colors and states, the stem standing nearly straight upward, withered, and thorny.  
  
CJ'd never known much about stalkers, obsessives, threats to society and people in general, but that morning she'd done her research, and found that he was an accelerated obsessive, one that became infatuated, claimed, and went after at a speed most couldn't fathom. Any day now, she thought, he was going to come for her, and she wasn't so sure she'd be able to get away. But, she pondered, he'd forgotten her for a moment in her office, maybe he'd forget her for good.  
  
And at her apartment, the phone ceased ringing as the answering machine kicked on, CJ's voice stating, "You've reached 555-8625. leave a message."  
  
The voice that replied was the voice she'd heard earlier in the day, crazed and pathetic, longing for something he'd never have, "Claudia, my apologies if I hurt your feelings today. I promise we'll continue our conversation at a later date," he lowered his voice, "It'll be our time soon, Claudia. You'll see.you'll see." 


	9. Part Eight

Part Eight:  
  
They hadn't really paused before entering Leo's office, Toby had just guided her forward with a "Hope he's not too busy, keep the riff-raff away, will you Margaret?" over his shoulder. Margaret had stood then, ready to protest and inform the pair that Leo was in with the President and First Lady, but she looked at CJ and figured they already knew, that this was bigger than she thought. And then she saw CJ's ripped jacket and wide eyes and sat heavily, suddenly feeling as old and tired and angry as CJ ever had - pain by association. Margaret nodded to their backs as they passed through the door, all the rumors falling to dust as she saw the almost mechanical movements of the Press Secretary, who was essentially being held up by Toby's strategically placed hands. And then, they were out of her line of vision, hidden behind the door to Leo's office, leaving only a mist of worry in their wake.  
  
Upon entering the office unannounced, Toby nodded toward the President, "Sir," his expression was hard as his eyes flitted to Abbey, who stood without a word, almost understanding that it was she they had really come for. "I'm sorry, Leo, there's been a . situation." With a hand at her back and another grasping her hand, he deposited CJ in a chair, then turned to Abbey, not seeing CJ lean forward and place her head in shaking hands.  
  
"I'm in trouble," she spoke, her voice muffled, and Leo and President Bartlet turned to take in her hunched frame. Sighing, CJ sat up, straightening her spine as if heading for battle, "It began over a year ago," her words were quiet, but the silence in the room was deafening as they all realized the importance of the tale she'd begun, and her words cut through it as silent music began to play toward crescendo. "After Rosslyn, the blood," she swallowed, "there was so much blood, and I." CJ's hand worked up to her throat, eyes glassy. "I've never been good with blood." Several minutes after shed begun, the story reached its end as she could see it, and she stopped, looking to her side where Toby stood, hand on the back of the chair, and she slid her smaller hand in his, her eyes asking for something he could only call approval. Toby smiled down at her, though the rest could not see, and his eyes conveyed things his words dared not.  
  
Leo's eyes were thoughtful, worried, and the tiniest bit angry, and the President had one recurring irrational thought passing through his mind, "I'll kill him. I'll make the FBI find him and I'll kill him myself," but he composed himself as he saw Abbey shake her head at his enraged expression, and he forced away the anger but could not suppress the paternal attitude. Briefly, he thought of taking her into his arms as he had done Zoey so many times, and comforting her to the best of his ability, but, he decided, he'd leave that for Toby.  
  
"Right now, Toby needs to talk to the Chief of Staff and the President, not Leo McGarry and Jed Bartlet," she paused, "and I," her voice cracked as she looked to Abbey, who nodded toward the Oval Office. "Yeah." And she was gone with Abbey after Toby released her hand, smoothing her hair for reassurance and closed his eyes.  
  
"She blames herself, but it's not her fault!" Toby finally sighed, running a hand over his face, "But Goddammit, which one of us has NEVER made a mistake?"  
  
Inside the Oval Office, CJ removed her jacket and stood in dress pants and a silk camisole, revealing the nearly-gone bruises that the hem fell against, and fresh marks on her upper arms. Abbey shook her head but didn't change her expression. "Nothing broken," she joked, then sobering, "I'm doing this for Toby. He worries." CJ averted her eyes from Abbey's.  
  
"Don't you?" Abbey asked, pulling on CJ's hand to get her to sit on the couch.  
  
"Yes, I suppose I do," her words were thoughtful. "He doesn't seem to understand that I mean it when I say no, that I made a very big mistake, I did, though." She switched her train of thought.  
  
"Yes." Abbey nodded slowly, "but who hasn't? No one has any right to judge you, CJ, people in glasses houses." she quoted the old adage, "God I'm beginning to sound like Jed, too much time with him, I guess." Her words elicited a grin from CJ, "But regardless of what mistakes you've made, however big or small it is, was, or could have been," she reaffirmed, "you did not deserve this."  
  
"I know that," she snapped, then looked stricken by her own tone, "I know," CJ's voice was softer. "I'm six feet tall, Abbey, I could kick Josh and Sam's asses any day of the week, but for the love of God, Abbey!" her voice had steadily risen to a level she was sure then men in the Oval could hear, and she stood again, pacing, "In my office, I froze!"  
  
"Well, who the hell wouldn't have CJ? You're not superwoman, no matter how hard you may try or how many phonebooths you see on a daily basis. There's no telling what could have happened, but when you UNfroze, you got to the door and would've made it out even if Toby hadn't arrived when he did. CJ, you're stronger than you think! You'd have saved yourself anyway! Now sit, you're making me feel either incredibly lazy for all your pacing o dizzy." She smiled as CJ sat, looking calmer and slightly drained, "It's going to be fine, CJ, they're, as we speak, running this guy through the FBI, CIA, Justice Department and who knows what else, in addition to setting you up with a Secret Service detail. flamingo."  
  
Despite her resolve not to, she grinned even as she attempted to argue against the detail.  
  
"Don't look at me, CJ, I'm not the one you need to discuss that with, but I think it's probably a good idea, at least until you know what you're up against. I'm not a board certified psychiatrist, but this guy doesn't sound very sane to me, stopping and starting and seemingly forgetting his purpose, changing his attitude so easily."  
  
CJ chuckled, "I should hope he's not sane. Normal people." she sighed, clasping her hands together, and looked back up at the First Lady with tired eyes. "I want to go back in there and find out what they're doing," she began, but the door opened and stopped her tirade, Toby, Leo and the President entering with downcast eyes and stricken expressions.  
  
"Neil Bowman," Toby began, "is dead, CJ. The man we met in there. was his son, Tommy. He's not. he's not someone anyone wants around." He emphasised his words, then came to sit beside her and Abbey on the couch, as Leo looked down at the paper the President held in his hands.  
  
"We got the FBI to run him through, though, this Tommy Bowman. He's got a record a mile long, but they can never keep him because he's clinically unable to stand trial. Been out of a nuthouse all of two years, got a job as a photographer somewhere, not exactly a respectable position, if you follow me."  
  
"What he's saying, CJ, is that this guy is more dangerous than even you thought," Leo sighed, "he's diagnosed with disorganized schizophrenia, a split mind so to speak - he has two personalities at the least - which explains why he so easily went from threatening you to walking peacefully from the office - it would have happened whether Toby walked in or not." Abbey sent CJ an 'I told you so' look, but CJ didn't catch it as she turned to look at Toby, who continue where Leo left off.  
  
"And he's borderline sociopathic, which means he could do any goddamn thing he wants and he's not gonna think it's wrong, he's going to think it's all fine and dandy and that he's helping humanity. He's medicated but apparently doesn't take this so called cure-all drug his doctors have him on." Under his breath, he muttered, "Jesus Christ!" and then took CJ's hand in his, more for his comfort than hers, then.  
  
"We're setting you up a detail, or rather, Ron is," the President spoke, "They'll be with you at all times, outside your apartment when you're in there, with one woman on the inside all the time. You'll be followed home, to restaurants, to the parking lot. I know it's a bother," he sighed, "believe me, I know better than anyone, and I know you've probably argued with Toby and Abbey and will do so with everyone else including the Agents that are with you, about this, but it's really the only thing. we want you safe, CJ."  
  
"Of course," she sighed, "You wouldn't want to train a new Press Secretary."  
  
"CJ!" the President began, but she interrupted.  
  
"Relax, sir, injecting a little humor into the conversation," she paused, squeezed Toby's hand, and looked up. "So, when do I meet my bodyguards?" and she couldn't help but grin at them all.  
  
Back in Apartment 4B on Walsh Street, Neil Bowman regained consciousness on his kitchen floor, his first words peeling from his lips as a car would a parking lot, "Claudia! Where. are you?" Looking around, he groaned, slammed his head back against the linoleum floor, and spoke, "Dammit, Thomas! Why do you keep bringing me back here? My place is with Claudia! With Claudia!" He yelled, "I'm going to teach you a lesson, Thomas! Come out here, boy! Thomas!" When he received no response, he stood to his feet, pulling his belt from the pant loops, "Dammit, Tommy. All of that work for nothing. Claudia will not be lost because of you, do you understand me? Do you?! I'll get her back, you'll see, I'll get my Claudia back. She would've been mine today, she would've been ready to love me if it hadn't been for you!" His voice had risen to a full yell, "I'll get you back, Claudia!" 


	10. Part Nine

Part Nine:  
  
  
  
"My day just keeps getting better and better," CJ sighed, her words filled with sarcasm as she headed toward yet another postponed briefing.  
  
"CJ, have you though of the possibility that the press may be alerted by the presence of the Secret Service at the door? They're going to wonder." Toby began, two agents falling in behind them as they arrived at the door.  
  
"You can't hold my hand forever, Toby. And regardless of personal circumstance, I am first and foremost the Press Secretary for the President of the United States. I can do my job, Toby, don't worry about me in there. The press room is my playground."  
  
He chuckled, "Well, play nice with the other children, Claudia Jean, it's them I'm worried about, not you." And CJ smiled in return, catching Toby's wink and shaking her head as she pushed herself into the room. "If you get the question." he began suddenly, a hand settling on the back of his neck.  
  
"What question?" she asked, halting with the door halfway open, propped against a pump.  
  
"The question," he replied, gesturing rather wildly.  
  
"Toby," she sighed, hands on the door. "Am I missing a set of briefing notes? Has someone done something incredibly stupid that I'm not aware of? Because, you know, it appeared to me that the last three or four days have been pretty quiet on a national level." CJ rolled her eyes.  
  
"The question regarding your being late or missing numerous times in the." he began after clearing his throat.  
  
"The White House doesn't comment on the personal lives of the staff," she quoted, shot him a lopsided grin, and let the door close behind her.  
  
Somehow, he pondered, she always managed to come out on top. Sometimes, her strength surprised him, and somehow, she always made him look on the upside of the negative, and the days ahead didn't look quite so bleak.  
  
The two secret service agents propped the door open, settled themselves on opposite sides, and awaited her return.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, CJ called for a full lid, exited the room, the two agents again falling in behind her, and ran, literally, into Toby.  
  
"I don't know whether to feel honored that I have two agents and, well, you, or be offended by the fact that no one thinks I can take care of myself, which, by the way, two weeks ago I would have kicked your ass for, but today I'm not so sure about myself, or just claustrophobic."  
  
"CJ." he began, his gaze scaring off Carol, who had begun to approach, with tissue in hand.  
  
"Don't 'CJ' me, Toby. I know what it feels like to be drowning without water, Toby, gasping and flailing and all the rest," she paused, her voice having lowered as they entered her office, "it's not a feeling I'll likely ever forget."  
  
Silence descended like vultures to carrion, and they settled on opposite sides of her desk. He watched her then, from the moment she sat and turned to him and locked their gazes, to when she broke the spell and turned her eyes to the floor. And, he did not move, waiting for her, as her eyes settled on a slightly darker patch of carpeting, stained by pH regulators and water treatments, and when her eyes closed, she saw orange and gold, but refused to admit that Gail was dead and likely flushed by the janitor.  
  
"You were worried for nothing, Toby. I didn't get the question," she finally spoke. "If I thought I was going to, and I mean ever, damage this administration, I'd resign in a heartbeat."  
  
Toby nodded almost indistinctly, "I know. You tried before, after."  
  
"Yeah, the MS thing," her words were almost flippant, as she thoughtfully pondered over Gail and the possibility of a new fish. and aquarium. Sighing, CJ shook her head, mentally scolding herself for even thinking of replacing her. "I brought a disorganized schizophrenic. sociopath into all of our lives, Toby, someone whose capacity to endanger this administration and myself is... immeasurable, because we can't understand, we don't want to. That's different than making a mistake behind the podium or even lying some forty-thousand odd times in three years. A lot different," she blinked back the tears that threatened to well in her eyes from nothing but frustration.  
  
"They'd never let you leave," he replied, huffing, still not admitting that it was he who would fight her leaving the most of all.  
  
"I know that, too," she whispered, and he held her gaze still, even as she felt herself flailing in water that wasn't really there.  
  
And again on Walsh Street, a man walked a well-worn patch of carpet, a mural of photographs suspended from the ceiling and cigarette smoke circling out the window. Tommy lit up when he was frustrated, but Neil smoked when he was plotting. Grinding out the fire against the window sill, his lips stretched into a grin when he heard her office door shut, signaling Toby's exit.  
  
The buttons on the phone glowed a chartreuse shade as he began to dial. 


	11. Part Ten

Part Ten  
  
  
  
"Toby's being himself, you know, worrying about everything in general and trying to keep everyone involved from doing stupid things," Leo informed the President as they stood by the office doorway, observing the staff as each filed in and took a seat. Toby was followed quickly by CJ and Josh, who couldn't help but turn and pointedly and quizzically stare at the male and female secret service agents that lagged behind.  
  
"Which means." the President nodded to them, his words quiet and prodding, directed at Leo, would have been amused had the subject not been so serious.  
  
"He's the one doing the stupid things," he paused, a tiny smile creasing his face, "That he's worried about CJ, trying to keep her from attempting a resignation." he whispered, eyed clouded, as the two men observe the nearly forced casual contact between the subjects of their conversation, things were too hard for something so easy.  
  
"What?" Bartlet responded, his voice rising, then lowering again before he continued, "I won't accept it."  
  
Leo nodded, "I know that sir, so do they," after another short pause, he added, "She doesn't like the agents."  
  
"Neither do I, but they're necessary. She's still refusing police and public involvement?" he asked, knowing it was unnecessary. "Ron's. being Ron, he's coordinated her detail for the next 72 hours, and he's spoken with a specialist friend of his who knows about these things, nutcases. Dr. McJohn, I think he said his name was, says this Bowman sonofabitch is an accelerated case. These obsessions usually develop over months, even years. But this one. days, weeks at the most."  
  
"Actually," his friend reminded him, as CJ leaned closer to Josh, all three laughing, Toby grudgingly so, "he met her a year ago. at least a year ago."  
  
"You think he was watching her. since then? before then?" the President asked, but his Chief of Staff only shrugged in response. Slowly, they entered the room, rounding to the front.  
  
"Gossiping like schoolchildren?" CJ asked, standing and straightening, smoothing her skirt.  
  
"Who? The President and Chief of Staff? Never. Impossible," Josh chuckled at his own words.  
  
"Ha."  
  
Leo rolled his eyes, "If you're finished."  
  
"And how are you CJ?" Bartlet interrupted.  
  
"As well as can be expected, sir," she responded, eyes wide and sincere as he continued.  
  
"CJ, I need to speak with you," he began, as Toby cocked his head, "And I suppose you want me to say what I will and get down to business, so I think I shall," he paused and Toby straightened, "We've launched an investigation - it will be kept from the public eye - don't argue with me, it's in your best interest. Just ask Toby."  
  
Her mouth closed, argument halted, as her eyes slid uneasily to the man whose hand had slipped inconspicuously to cover hers. "We'll get into the details after staff," Leo interrupted again, as the room descended into a temporary silence.  
  
Toby nodded, and CJ glanced at him, seeking reassurance only he could provide. She mouthed an affirmation, then looked to the table as Toby squeezed her hand, hovering above her knee.  
  
"Emile's, seven," she whispered to him, and Josh raised an eyebrow from his position across the table, observing with passive amusement as Toby nodded, unsure of her motives but aware of the unspoken request to see the President alone.  
  
"CJ. I had hoped you knew I wouldn't accept your." he began as the door latched behin them. Toby had left behind an apprehensive glance as CJ stood and approached the President.  
  
"I'm not going to resign, sir. And I do know that, even if I tried, you wouldn't accept it. Everyone on staff has insisted as much. I'm beginning to think I'm predictable." Her words elicited a chuckle from the President as he nodded at the chair, indicating she should sit. Once both were settled in their respective seats, she looked up at him and continued. "I. uhm. I love Toby, sir, I think I always have. And this," she waved her hand through the air, "this is killing him. I want to be able to. breathe without worrying, and Toby deserves so much more than this, this. shit," she sighed, frustration flitting across her features.  
  
"Toby loves you," the President smiled, still unsure as to where the conversation was leading. "And I see no problem with a relationship, if that's what you're worried about."  
  
She shook her head, "No. No, it's not that. I have an idea, a plan, if you will, Mr. President, but I need your help. I need a couple of agents - different ones, a tracking device, and the rest I can handle."  
  
"You want to." he began, rising to his feet.  
  
"Yes sir. I want to set a trap - albeit a foolproof one."  
  
He paused, examining her. "This requires Ron."  
  
"Yes, sir." She replied, and she began to plan.  
  
------------  
  
At 7:30, Toby nervously stood from his chair as his cell phone rang, for CJ had yet to arrive.  
  
"He's got CJ, Toby. Dammit, he's got her!" Josh's voice was strained and Toby's hands shook as he dropped the phone moments later, fighting the urge to fall to his knees.  
  
"Oh Claudia Jean," he whispered, "Why didn't you tell me?" 


	12. Part Eleven

Part Eleven:  
  
  
  
Jed Bartlet paced the length of the Oval Office; Leo, Toby, Josh, and Sam watched apprehensively. "She came to me, after Staff, with this neat little plan, and Ron even agreed, said she'd done well. It seemed fool proof."  
  
"Well it wasn't! How could you." Toby roared, and Sam and Josh moved to reflexively restrain him if necessary, but Jed shook his head, calling them off.  
  
"I've already said as much. I should have never listened, never called in Ron. but you know our CJ." he paused, leaning backward against the massive desk. "One of the agents died at the scene, bullet wound to the chest, busted his aorta Abbey thinks, the other's at GW. Head trauma."  
  
"Do we know where he's taken CJ?" Josh spoke, his voice quasi- childlike. .  
  
This time it was Leo's voice that was strained, "No we don't. The surviving agent overheard snatches of a very one-sided conversation, this man. Tommy or Neil or whoever he is," he sighed, "says she belongs to him, like she's some object, like." he trailed off. "He says if he can't have her."  
  
"No one can," Toby filled in, his voice hoarse, hollow, scared.  
  
"We have a tracker on her, but she has yet to activate it," Ron spoke, waiting for permission to enter from his place at the doorway.  
  
"Well, why the hell not?" the words burst from Toby's lips as if from a floodgate.  
  
"There were traces of blood at the scene," he sighed, "we believe there's a possibility she's injured."  
  
"Jesus H. Christ!" Toby exploded, "She's hurt and she's alone with a clinically insane psychopath that."  
  
"Sociopath," someone interjected but was easily ignored.  
  
".wants to possess her and will probably kill her if given enough reason!" he breathed, on his feet as he headed to the door, "And we're just sitting here like fucking bumps on a log! I'm not going to wait to be called to a goddamn morgue; I'm going to find her!"  
  
"Toby, sit." The President spoke then, no longer friend and comrade Jed Bartlet, "You haven't a clue where he'd take her. We have men at both apartments."  
  
"Hell of a lot of good it's done her so far!"  
  
"Toby, Ron's got men working to turn the tracker on remotely. We need you to stay and think of CJ, for CJ. Where would he take her? Has she ever said anything about somewhere he's taken her? Where it began? A place he mentioned when he was with her?"  
  
Toby was silent as Leo spoke again, "They found a microchip, a bug, in CJ's home phone and several other places around her home. He could be taking her somewhere he's heard that she likes, somewhere you mentioned wanting to take her. He was listening all the time, Toby, his apartment was a veritable audio-visual genius' playground," he paused, eyes slipping shut. "He had pictures of her everywhere, mostly stills from news broadcasts and photographs from newspapers, magazines," the room again fell silent, but the gears in Toby's mind turned relentlessly.  
  
"She loves the beach." he finally whispered. "I practically met her at the beach." Leo's earlier words drifted through his mind, "Where it all began.He took her to the beach!" A second later, his voice had risen drastically as he nearly yelled - "The Potomac!" and forced his way through the doorway, fear and rage fueling his pace.  
  
------  
  
She had planned to arrange a meeting - to appear just as lost and hopeless as she had in the beginning, only this time would end. Stalking laws, being a cause she held near to her heart, were less than efficient at best where thy even existed. Provoke him to anger, she had told herself, but don't be a God forsaken martyr. And, CJ had smiled hesitantly as she exited the room with the head of the Secret Service on her heels, barking orders and mentally calling her a fool. "I like living, and I don't plan on doing anything stupid. It's entrapment," she paused, feeling almost guilty, "but this is political, and I was hired for my spin techniques."  
  
He paused, stiff and starched as always, but almost smiling at her words, frightened by her idealism. "I'll make sure they're well-armed, Ms. Cregg."  
  
She nodded, a little voice in the far reaches of her mind hissing, "It's not that easy, you're walking into a trap, Ceej! Don't simplify this!" But she pushed it away and waited for the go-ahead, ready to deliberate on whether or not to tell Toby. Moments later, CJ pushed that, too, from her mind, settling on all the reasons she shouldn't tell him, simply because he'd be able to stop her, and, she sighed, it was time to end the nightmare she'd fallen into unaware.  
  
With a final sigh, she dove back into work as she would any other day.  
  
"Doesn't everyone make mistakes?"  
  
Eleven hours after she'd spoken the initial plan to the man who could enable it's beginning, CJ felt wind whiz by her ear before she heard the first man collapse, saw the second cry out as he fell. And, the darkness fell around her and she knew, then, that she would never enact her plan, because the final round had begun at Checkmate. 


	13. Part Twelve

Part Twelve  
  
  
  
Consciousness sort of eluded her, it was there vaguely beyond her reach, and she felt arms close around her, lifting her from night-cooled concrete, words floating above her as she was jostled.  
  
"If I can't have you, no one can."  
  
  
  
And then, she was buckled into a car and she scraped and fumbled, trying to hold onto herself even as consciousness slipped further away, tape wrapping around her wrists and ankles, covering her lips and blocking her words, and suddenly, she was definitively awake. Sticky blood slid downward along her hairline and her eyes flitted around nervously as he pulled from the lot. Rational mind fighting for a foothold, she foggily wondered where all the guards were and tears filled her eyes as she recalled the two agents she'd seen fall.  
  
"I was supposed to protect them!" she wanted to cry out, but the tape tore at her lips when she tried to move them.  
  
And, he began to speak, seemingly in riddles. "I wanted you, but he had you, and I can't deal with that, because you're mine. You see, it was the boy's fault. I would've had you sooner, but he kept interfering. Now, we're together and no one can interfere," his lips skinned back, baring startlingly white teeth. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"  
  
CJ's eyes settled on the lock and she wondered if he'd see her if she tried to unlock the door. Reincarnation followed death - if it even existed - and she closed her eyes as she thought, at the rate she was going, she felt she'd come back as a rat.  
  
"Romeo and Juliet was always my favorite play. Shakespeare, now he could write, unlike that man that was pawing you the other day. See I know all about him, too, he's a speechwriter and you're the Press Secretary, so I can see why you'd have to work with him, but you don't anymore. It'll just be you.. and me. Romeo and Juliet," he paused, seemingly forgetting she was there as he continued, "You and I are going to die together Claudia, because I'm yours. and you're mine. You see?" And then he returned to reality and fell to silence, still refusing to look her in the eye.  
  
"I won't die here, I won't die with you!" CJ wanted to scream, as prayers flitted through the part of her mind she'd valiantly ignored. "I won't!" And then, she flashed back to cold cement and envisioned the blood that pooled on the concrete beneath an agent she misguidedly felt she was to 'use and return in good order'. "I won't," she sighed beneath the tape, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes like the blood had on the ground the night of Rosslyn, Josh's blood then; and the night she was kidnapped by a madman - an innocent man who'd been doing his job - protecting her.  
  
Only so much blood could be purged from human veins before death. Silently she wondered, still twisting toward the lock slowly, trying not to attract attention, how much blood was left for her to shed, how much of her heart was left to be broken. "I'm sorry, Toby," CJ thought, and a tear trickled downward toward the silver tape that covered her mouth, and she turned more sharply toward the lock with bound hands.  
  
And then, she saw the water.  
  
The Potomac River glistened beneath pale moonlight as the car sped off the road to the overlook, busting through a barrier that shattered the glass windshield into so many shards, and her hands pushed at the lock, flipping the silver to black.  
  
"If I can't have you - no one can!"  
  
The world was darkness as water closed in around the vehicle and she shoved at the handle as he grinned at her mercilessly, maniacally.  
  
"Romeo and Juliet. I love you, Claudia!" White teeth gleamed in the cold as she twisted away from him, taking one look back as the door gave way and she threw herself toward the bank into shallow water below a drop off, anger boiling within her at his words.  
  
"This isn't love!" she wanted to cry, but the tape did not give, and she felt the water push her toward the reeds. "Obsession!"  
  
The car kept rolling, and she heard howling as the river pulled it under and the water cloaked the cries of the man inside.  
  
"No one can, Claudia!"  
  
And Toby found her there, followed by two cars filled with Secret Service Agents and two police units, curled into herself on the bank, shivering against the cold that had seeped into her bones, tape binding her ankles, wrists, and lips.  
  
Water dripped down her spine as Toby pulled the tape from her mouth and hands, enveloping her in an embrace she had feared she'd never again feel. But still, she looked into the Potomac, his words echoing in her ears as the car rode downstream along the currents, a single man, with two personalities that wanted to possess her, trapped inside. "Romeo and Juliet," she heard the whisper in the rush of the water and the wind in the reeds as a police officer draped a blanket over both CJ and Toby, and he rocked her as he would a child.  
  
"Toby," she sobbed, and he wiped water mixed with blood from her brow as she finally turned away, burying her face in his shoulder.  
  
"It's okay, CJ. It's over now, it's over. He's gone and you. you're okay. It's okay, it's okay," he soothed, but his words were unheard as she again slipped into unconsciousness, darkness pulling her under as if the icy cold current had never let her go.  
  
Toby stood to his feet carefully, as if carrying a precious child, and he stopped as he heard her moan, "It's not over, is it?" before she again slipped into her night.  
  
This time, Toby too heard the rush of the water as it echoed the words spoken in calmness and rage, "If I can't have you."  
  
The ambulance doors closed upon the words, and Toby allowed his head to sink against her breast after they had rid her of icy clothing and wrapped her in thermal blankets.  
  
"I love you, Claudia Jean."  
  
And she heard the words, filled with honesty and devotion, and without hesitation, she believed them. 


	14. Epilogue...?

Epilogue:  
  
"Ow!" CJ yelped, as the nurse peeled the clear tape from the needle that was in her hand, removing it quickly.  
  
"Sorry," she muttered, chuckling as CJ attempted a glare even though her look was tempered by the bandage above her right brow. "But I'm sure you're glad to be out of here."  
  
"You can say that again," the words came from the doorway, where Toby stood with a gold coated box and a grin plastered on his face.  
  
"The doctor will be with you in a moment," the nurse smiled and made a timely exit.  
  
"Godiva chocolates!" she laughed, pulling the box from his hands and sitting backward on the edge of the bed. "If I didn't love you yesterday."  
  
"Hey, that might've been my breakfast, you know," his tone was playful as he plucked a candy from the box. She smacked his hand and he dropped it, leaving the chocolate for her to grab. CJ grinned indulgently, dropping the candy into his open mouth. He closed his lips around her fingers with a smile and she giggled involuntarily. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine, Toby, free. We're free," she smiled, and when it reached her eyes, he joined her, placing his lips against her wrist, kissing the irritated flesh.  
  
The doctor entered the room, tapping her chart against the door. "I'd clear my throat as is the standard, but I don't think your reaction would be as entertaining," Doctor Morgan chuckled as they leapt apart.  
  
"So, how is she, doc?"  
  
"Fine." CJ began, shooting Toby a glare.  
  
"Just as she said, she's fine. We've stitched up that cut, shouldn't leave much of a scar, and you're displaying no symptoms of a concussion, correct? No dizziness, nausea.?" he watched her until she nodded in the affirmative, "Then, you're free to go. I'm prescribing you an ointment for your wrists and ankles to help that rash heal more quickly, and a mild painkiller for the head wound. I'd recommend that you take a few days off, stay in bed, catch up on some sleep and eat a few extra meals. You're still partially dehydrated, but I imagine with a little bit of coddling," he pointedly looked at Toby, who, in turn, looked straight at CJ, a grin poised on his lips, "you'll be just fine. So, Mr. Cregg, er, Ziegler," he grinned mischievously at Toby, "think you can handle her?"  
  
CJ snorted at the prospect of being handled, but chuckled as the doctor continued. "Maybe take a few days off yourself, stay in bed, cook - or better yet, order in. I recommend Campbell's soup for the cooking inept," Morgan added, winking at CJ, "it's a cure-all." Toby glared at the older man, then turned to her, quickly becoming a little lost in her smile. "I have a feeling Dr. Bartlet will see to the days off and the rest - I make recommendations, she is the one who passes the Doctor's orders." And then, he was gone.  
  
"Few days in bed," she murmured, leaning back toward Toby as they awaited the orderly. "Sounds good to me."  
  
"Campbell's soup?" Toby mused, not hearing her words as he began to ponder over the adventures in cooking he was about to partake on. "This is going to be a long few days off work, which was exactly what Abbey and your Doctor Morgan planned, isn't it?"  
  
CJ looked at him, almost bewildered by his lack of response to her earlier words, "Toby," she paused, tapping his chin with her index finger until he turned to look her in the eye, a playful tone overtaking her words. "You heard the man," her face broke into a grin, "take me to bed!"  
  
The orderly that stood outside the room with the wheelchair chuckled, pausing to allow them another moment alone before he interrupted. He knocked on the door, and poked his head in after a moment, the right wheel of the chair running over the bud of a red rose as a man stood at the nurse's station, watching and waiting, a storm brewing in his eyes, for the next round of the game.  
  
Checkmate. 


End file.
